


you burn me

by Mertiya



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: But the kind that makes you horny, F/F, Gwen is adorable, Hence 'mildly' instead of 'extremely' dubious, Love Potion/Spell, Merlin is embarrassed, Mildly Dubious Consent, Morgana is happy, POV Gwen (Merlin), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, So it's more like being drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 11:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15387981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Merlin finds a visitor to Camelot attempting to give Arthur a love potion and intervenes.  Then he realizes that the visitor's brother may have designs on Morgana...





	you burn me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a fragmentary poem by Sappho.
> 
> I need more Gwen/Morgana smut in my life, so here we are XD

Merlin did not like the twins. They had both been quite polite to him—at least for nobles, which meant that they had not physically assaulted him or shouted at him when he hadn’t _actually_ made a mistake—but something about them rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t want to bring it to Gaius’s attention without being really certain, but there was an aura about them that felt—it was like a toothache, only instead of registering as a niggling pain in the side of his mouth, this was more of a niggling pain in his everywhere, which probably meant it was something magical.

            But it spiked every time he saw Bran or Sheila, and it didn’t help that they spent most of their time trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to flirt with Morgana and Arthur, respectively. Their father was a lord, but he wasn’t important enough to warrant Uther’s particular attention, and thankfully for once both of the royal scions were showing what Merlin would almost have termed good taste, and while that wasn’t so surprising when it came to Morgana, it was really rather eternally surprising with Arthur, who Merlin considered—perhaps unfairly—to be ready to chase after anything wearing a skirt. Or maybe it was just that Merlin always seemed to notice the skirts Arthur chased after and to compare them unfavorably with somebody else that Arthur knew—Gwen, maybe, or—or—here, Merlin stalled, and this was the other reason that he hadn’t gone to Gaius. He an unreasonable but persistent fear that Gaius would say he was jealous. Which he wasn’t, of course! Arthur might be his destiny, but he was also an utter prat, and just because Merlin happened to find skirts and trousers equally appealing didn’t mean he wanted anything of the princely variety.

            So, in any case, he was not even remotely jealous. He was, however, a little perturbed when Sheila lowered her dark lashes at him and asked him if he would hold Arthur’s drink still for her. It was the mulled wine Merlin took to him every evening, and Arthur was rather particular about the taste. And besides that, the way Sheila giggled when Merlin asked her what she was putting in it belied her answer, “Oh, just some more cinnamon and cardamom.”

            Therefore, despite the fact that Arthur would fuss horribly about being kept waiting, Merlin whisked the drink away to Gaius as soon as he was out of giggling Sheila’s sight. Five minutes later, Gaius’s eyebrow was climbing well into his hair. “It’s a love potion,” he said succinctly, and Merlin felt his jaw dropping.

            “Those _exist_?”

            The eyebrow, astonishingly, climbed higher. “Did you think they were just a myth?”

            “I mean—” Merlin flailed slightly. “Kind of? How do you make someone fall in love with you with just—with a potion?”

            “Well, ‘love potion’ is perhaps a slight misnomer.” It might have been Merlin’s imagination, but Gaius looked slightly pinker. “They tend to compel immediate, ah, activity, with the next person you see. Which often leads to infatuation, at least, not to mention complications best resolved by marriage.”

            Merlin raised a finger. “Hang on,” he said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

            “And why not?”

            “Well, I mean, the next person Arthur would have seen after taking this wouldn’t have been Sheila, even if she was lurking around outside the door. It would’ve been me.” Which would’ve been horrible. Imagine Arthur trying to— _push you back against the wall, press his lips into yours, ravage your mouth, slide his hand down—_ Merlin blinked, because he was fairly certain _sudden interest_ wasn’t the correct reaction. Especially because it wouldn’t have been Arthur’s choice, and that would be just terrible—Arthur wanting him without actually _wanting_ him, but just because—

            No, wait, hang on, back up. It would be terrible because who in their right mind would want to bed Arthur The Clotpole?

            “I’d better go let Arthur know that Sheila is trying to encha—poison him,” Merlin sighed. “He’ll need to be warned in case she tries anything else.”

            He turned to head out of the room, but Gaius’s voice called him back. “Merlin, wait.”

            “Huh?”

            “Do you suppose that Sheila acted on her own, or is it likely that her brother will be trying something similar?”

            “Oh,” breathed Merlin. “Oh no. _Morgana_.”

~

            “Be a dear and just set my cocoa down by the bed, won’t you, Gwen?” Morgana sounded a little livelier than she had in the past few nights, for which Gwen was grateful. Despite Gaius’s ministrations, Morgana’s nightmares had been growing rapidly worse, the dark circles beneath her eyes growing like invading armies expanding their territory. It hurt Gwen’s heart to see her like this, so thin and fragile and stretched taut.

            “Will you need anything else?” Gwen asked, poking her head in through the curtains of Morgana’s bed. Sometimes, she read to her friend until she fell asleep; sometimes she just held her hand; sometimes—

            “I might need you to fend off Bran aga— _oh_.” Morgana cut herself off for no reason that Gwen could see, setting the hot chocolate down on her bedside table. “Gwen—”

            “Yes?”

            “Come here?” Her eyes were luminous, cheeks flushed, breast heaving beneath her thin nightgown, all of which Gwen managed to notice in the span of time it took for Morgana to lean forward and press their lips together.

            “Morgana—my lady—are you sure you’re—” Gwen sputtered as the kiss broke. It wasn’t as if they’d never—only it had been some time, because Morgana had been feeling ill, and she hadn’t seemed _that_ much better today. Now there were lips trailing gently down Gwen’s throat, and she gulped. “M-Morgana?”

            Morgana hummed against her and then slid her tongue down between Gwen’s breasts. Gwen made a very undignified squeaking noise that turned into a moan halfway through, and she carded one hand through Morgana’s dark curls. She felt hands on her shoulders, and then the top of her dress was coming down, and Morgana’s mouth moved from between her breasts onto the left one. “ _Morgana_ ,” Gwen groaned, hand tightening in Morgana’s hair, as she let the princess push her down onto the pillows she’d carefully plumped up not an hour ago. One of Morgana’s long-fingered hands slipped down to cup Gwen’s thigh and then skillfully tug her dress upward.

            It had been so long, and it was so sudden that Gwen’s brain had overloaded, short-circuited, and nearly shut down entirely, so she’d basically been just lying there like a log. Well, maybe not like a log, she discovered as a mewl made its way out of her lips and her hips jerked against Morgana’s knee. But not with any sort of intent, as it were. She twisted silky curls in one hand and pulled Morgana’s face back up to hers so that she could kiss those full, red lips, slide her tongue over the lower one and suck it into her mouth.

            Morgana moaned, and now one hand was massaging Gwen’s breast, and Gwen had both her hands up, scrabbling with the shoulders of Morgana’s gown. It took longer than she would have liked, but eventually she got it unseated and pulled it down, and then Morgana was pressed against her, breasts against her breasts, and it felt lovely and soft, but Gwen was also starting to get a little desperate, so she rutted against Morgana’s knee, and Morgana grinned down at her, a wild look Gwen hadn’t seen in _days_ , her hair all disheveled, and Gwen wanted to cry with how much she loved seeing her lady like this. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this—not so much the physical act, but the sight of worry banished from Morgana’s eyes, even if she knew it was temporary.

            “Let me get your skirts up?” Morgana was saying hopefully.

            “Yes, um, yes, please, Morgana,” Gwen gabbled out all in one breath, and Morgana pulled back for one long, cold, horrible moment, and then there were lips on her thighs, hands pressing against her hips, as Morgana actually dove _underneath_ her skirts. “Morgana, what are you— _oh_ —oh, _please_ — _Morgana_ —” The heat that had been coiling in her belly spiked to her heart as she felt Morgana’s mouth moving between her legs. She was aching with it, with wave after wave of warm pleasure, teetering on the brink shamefully quickly. “Morgana—Morgana—wait, just a moment, please—” Morgana’s head popped up again, her chin glistening, and Gwen arched off the bed and nearly came right there from the sight of her.

            “What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

            “No—no, I just—I wanted to see you,” Gwen managed hopefully, between unsteady attempts at getting air into her lungs. She seemed to have lost the knack of breathing.

            The concerned expression morphed into a wrinkle-nosed smile. “Oh, you want to _see_ me? Well, I think that can be arranged.” She bent forward, nestling against Gwen’s breasts, one hand worming its way back under Gwen’s skirts. Gwen jerked and grabbed for Morgana’s shoulders as two fingers slipped inside her and a thumb rubbed careful circles across her clit. She trembled, whining into Morgana’s shoulder, wanting to grab for her hips or legs, but not being able to let go of her death grip in this position.

            “Come for me, Gwen,” Morgana murmured throatily in her ear. “There’s my little dove.” Gwen bit down on Morgana’s shoulder and jerked her hips against Morgana’s fingers, and then Morgana’s silly pet name for her pulled her abruptly over the edge, and the heat uncoiled from her belly and washed through her, radiating out from her core to her head and all her extremities.

            She took a moment to collect herself, just to breathe in Morgana’s scent and lick at her shoulder, collecting Morgana’s sweat on her tongue. “Gwen, _Gwen_ ,” Morgana groaned in answer. “Gwen, that’s not _fair_. Please—”

            “What do you want, my lady?” Gwen whispered, drawing her lips from Morgana’s shoulders to her ear, as the insistence of the orgasm ebbed a bit.

            “I just want—ah, damnation—” Morgana whined. “Hand. _Now_.”

            “Right.” Gwen pushed Morgana’s light nightgown up around her waist. She wore nothing underneath.

            “Gwen,” Morgana complained. “ _Now_ , not next year.”

            “Impatient,” Gwen chided her. “Just let me get around behind you.” She got onto her hands and knees, still a little wobbly, and then she slid around behind Morgana so that she could put her legs about her lady’s waist, hook her feet beneath Morgana’s knees and hold Morgana’s legs apart as she slipped a hand down to tease Morgana’s slippery clit. “Close,” Morgana gasped, squirming in her embrace. It took Gwen just two more strokes of her fingers and one leisurely circle, and then Morgana was seizing up in her arms with a soft but desperate-sounding gasp. After a moment she slumped boneless against Gwen, rolling her head to the side to capture a lazy kiss.

            They were just starting to untangle themselves from their complicated sprawl when someone knocked on the door. “Oh, dear,” Gwen said, a little helplessly. “Um. I’ll just—” She got up quickly, pulling up her dress and smoothing down her skirt. There wasn’t much she could do about the smell, but the door wasn’t that close to the bed. Maybe it would be all right. “You—should stay there,” she told Morgana, who was also starting to rise. There was no way anyone seeing Morgana wouldn’t know immediately what had been going on. Gwen wasn’t entirely sure about her own ability to pretend that “what had been going on” was “nothing” but at least she didn’t have Morgana’s china-white skin and corresponding ability to show even the faintest hint of a flush.

            Gwen straightened her gown again and hurried to the door, opening it to reveal Bran, one of the two visitors who had been so irritatingly attentive to Morgana and Arthur over the past few days. “Can I help you?” she asked.

            “May I speak with your lady?” he asked. “I’d like to see her.” He tried for a wide smile, but it looked like a weasel trying to ingratiate itself with a mouse, Gwen thought, with uncharacteristic venom.

            “She’s very tired,” Gwen said shortly. “I’m sorry. Maybe come back tomorrow.”

            “I’d just like a moment of her attention. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind answering a single question.”

            Desperately trying to stop herself from rolling her eyes, Gwen said, “I’ll ask her,” and ducked back into the room. “Morgana, um…” She’d left the door open, which was stupid, because of course as soon as she stepped out of the entranceway, Bran darted past her and farther into the bedroom.

            “My lady Morgana,” he said.

            “Oh, damn,” Gwen muttered, stalking after him.

            “What do you want?” Morgana demanded. “I was trying to sleep.”

            There was a pause, as if Bran was waiting for something; then Gwen inserted herself between him and the bed. “I think you should leave now,” she told him.

            He gave her a supercilious look. “Surely that’s for the Lady Morgana to say,” he replied pointedly.

            “I will say it very happily,” Morgana replied from behind Gwen. “Get out.”

            His eyes actually bulged out. “You…what? Surely you want me here.”

            “I have been polite to you at court, Sir Gelert, but I see no reason to be polite when you invade my bedchamber in the evening. I do not believe my guardian would view your intrusion as proper behavior, do you?”

            “I—I—” Bran breathed out rapidly. “My—sincerest apologies, my lady. I must have—this was unpardonable of me.” He turned and hurried out, and Gwen shut the door behind him.

            “Well, that was—”

            “Awful?” Morgana suggested.

            “Confusing.” Gwen chewed on her lip. “I mean he’s never been particularly nice, but he hasn’t been any worse than the rest of the lords or ladies. Um. Not that I mean you’re all particularly terrible. Obviously. Um.” Morgana waved an amused hand at her, and she continued. “But that was really awful. It was like he really expected you’d want to see him.”

            Before she could say anything else, someone knocked on the door again.

            “Oh, _really_?” Morgana groaned. “Just ignore it, Gwen.”

            But the knock sounded again, louder, almost a little frantic. “I’d better not?” Gwen said, questioning, apologetic, and Morgana sighed harshly and nodded. Gwen hurried over to the door again.

            At least it wasn’t Bran this time. Instead, it was Merlin, looking out of breath, concerned, and just a bit embarrassed. “Gwen!” he said, quickly. “Don’t give Morgana her hot chocolate!”

            Gwen felt her heart lurch, her eyes traveling back over her shoulder to where Morgana’s cup of hot chocolate sat half-finished on the bedside table. “Why?” she gulped out. If she’d poisoned Morgana, she would never forgive herself.

            “Love potion,” Merlin gabbled out. “Sheila tried putting it in Arthur’s mulled wine, and I thought—Bran might’ve—”

            Gwen stared at him, and then, with a confused flush rising in her cheeks, she turned back to Morgana. Morgana, who was now shaking with silent mirth. “You’re a bit late, Merlin,” she told him, with her lilting voice cracking with laughter. “Don’t worry yourself, though, Gwen took care of it.”

            “You did?” Merlin’s eyebrows climbed into his hair. “How’d you—” he peered a little closer at her face, and then glanced over to Morgana, who had gotten out of bed and was padding amusedly over toward the two of them. “Oh. You. _Oh_. Oh my god I’m so sorry I’ll just—I’ll just leave now—” He backed out of the door so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet and banged it shut as soon as he presumably could.

            Gwen’s hands landed on her mouth. “Oh, Morgana, I’m so sorry,” she said, miserably. “I should have known something strange was going on. I never would have—”

            “Gwen. Kindly shut up.” Morgana put her hands on Gwen’s shoulders and kissed her on the mouth. “I know you wouldn’t have, but it’s really all right. I’ve been so terrified and tired, lately, and I’d most likely just have gone to sleep and had nightmares tonight, too.”

            “And instead, you—”

            “Instead, I feel much better, and I’m going to drag you into bed with me and maybe I’ll sleep better. And even if I don’t, I don’t regret it, not a bit. So don’t be daft, Gwen.”

            “If you’re _sure_.”

            “I am very,” she kissed Gwen’s mouth again, “very,” she kissed Gwen’s forehead, “sure,” bending over to kiss the palm of Gwen’s hand for good measure. “Besides, isn’t this just too funny?”

            “Hmm?” Gwen was losing track of the conversation as Morgana’s hand stroked her cheek lightly.

            Morgana smiled, a self-satisfied, secretive smile like a cat who’d just got into the cream. “Gelert tried to entrap me, and in the end, all he did was make himself look foolish and give the two of us a lovely evening. Serve him right for forgetting your existence—or worse, assuming a love potion would only work with a man and a woman.”

            Giggling, Gwen turned her face to the side to kiss Morgana’s hand back. “That’s true,” she admitted, and then laughed harder. “Oh, did you see poor Merlin’s face?”

            Ushering Gwen towards the bed, Morgana nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder if he ever had a moment when he thought of leaving the potion _in_ Arthur’s wine…”

            “Oh, surely not!”

            “Have you seen the way they look at each other? I don’t believe the prince would object…ah, well, it’s none of our business.” Morgana slung an arm around Gwen and drew her in for a kiss and a cuddle. “Gwen,” she said softly after a moment. “I love you, you know.”

            Gwen pulled in a shocked intake of breath, feeling her cheeks warming; then she pressed her forehead against Morgana’s. “I know,” she whispered back. “Now go to sleep.”

            Morgana made a sleepy noise at her back, but she curled more fiercely around Gwen, and Gwen felt her own eyes beginning to slide shut. Really, it did seem to be the best possible outcome for the application of a love potion.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please check out my original work at mertiya-writes.com
> 
> I considered expanding on what happens between Arthur and Merlin, but decided in the end I didn't want to pull the focus from Gwen and Morgana. I might write a follow-up some time.


End file.
